The Devil Inside of Me
by ChasedByTheShadows
Summary: Angsty Spoby fic, with some fluff at the end. Post 3x16. Toby's POV. "I look at her and I realize that I do have something, someone, to fight for. And I'll fight to the death if it means she stays safe." Now a collection of unrelated Spoby OneShots, some angsty, some fluffy.
1. The Devil Inside of Me

**The Devil Inside of Me**

**A Spoby OneShot**

**(A/N: Title inspired by something Keegan Allen said during a Ustream that had nothing to do with Pretty Little Liars :D)**

_"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend."  
-Martin Luther King, Jr. _

_"How can the devil be pulling you towards someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?"  
-Taylor Swift_

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

That combination of seven words, surely the brightest jewel on the crown of anguished phrases, seemed to be on an endless loop in my head, pounding its incessant rhythm into to my skull like a damaged vinyl player. That isn't what infuriates me, though. No, the part that makes it most unbearable is that even with an eternity of repetition, I still wouldn't be able to discern quite what that simple little statement means to me.

Perhaps it's that I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her, with the enemy. That wasn't the original plan, of course. My orders were to get close to her, to gain her trust so that I could gather information, and then, one day, we could pull the rug out from underneath her, and the mightiest of the bitches would finally fall. Through all of this, of course, I was meant to remain neutral, simply putting on the show of caring for her, but not actually doing so.

In retrospect, this sounds asinine even to me. Haven't we all seen enough horrid, romantic movies to know that these types of plans never work out like they're supposed to? Mona should have anticipated this. Maybe she was too blinded by madness-induced fury, or maybe it was her plan all along. For all I know, I could be just another pun in her twisted chess game.

Perhaps it has nothing to do with Spencer—at least not directly. It could be that I wasn't supposed to join this godforsaken "team" at all.

I did it out of anger and hatred and the crushing weakness that has always plagued me. Mona played on that weakness, using it to lure me in. At the time, I was glad to obey her, keeping close behind her like a dog and doing just as I was told. It was as though she was a savior or a hero in the night, come to finally take down the blonde-headed demon that had tormented us for years.

After Alison's death, of course, we couldn't have her anymore. The next best thing was her posse. They'd been her right-hands during her Reign of Terror, so they deserved to live through hell just like their leader. I'd said that to Alison myself once, and there was a time I'd believed it with every part of me.

That was before I'd ever really looked into those beautiful brown eyes. They were, of course, one of her Hastings features, but beyond the surface, they did little to connect her to her parents and sister. Rather, they often did just the opposite. When Spencer wanted something, or loved something, her eyes were imbued with a fierce, passionate determination that the deadpan gazes of her family simply did not possess. When she looked at me, when I first realized she loved me, I could feel something shift deep down within me, and it was such a new and terrifying feeling that I didn't know what to make of it at first.

Perhaps, though, the phrase that has become my plague is trying to tell me that I wasn't meant to break her so utterly the way that I did.

I'm a coward, I know that. I've proved it time and time again. After Mona punished me with that scaffolding incident for trying to back out of my orders, to stop lying to Spencer, I'd never outwardly disobeyed her again. When I could tell that Spencer was ready to sleep with me, I should've refused, because the inevitability of my crushing her heart was looming over us, but I didn't. How could I have, when she lit a fire in my veins that made me feel alive in a way that I hadn't felt in such a long, long time?

The most prominent example of my cowardice, though, is the most recent one. When I turned to face Spencer in her kitchen, on that fateful night when the star-crossed lovers were to meet their end, with nothing but the thunder to break the deafening silence between us, something was different in those eyes that I loved. There was no shock, as I'd expected—she'd known my secret for longer than she'd ever admit, for hours probably. No, it wasn't any sort of revelation, but something had changed.

And I couldn't stand it. It took all I had to walk towards her, to fight the urge to run immediately. Running was a familiar concept to me, especially since I'd come into this sick partnership with Mona. In fight or flight, the latter was a comfortable option. I had other reasons, too. I had thought that if I left before the image really sunk in, burning itself onto my irises, I could forget it, and remember only the plentiful looks of love they'd bestowed upon me. So when she turned at the sound of her mother's voice, I took my chance.

It was to no avail, though. Despite the fact that the soft, tender gazes I'd become accustomed to and preferred far outnumbered this one, I could still recall it with cruel, perfect clarity-the quiet rage, the lingering denial, and, most poignantly of all, what seemed to be unadulterated hatred.

She might as well have just plunged a sword into me, because I don't know how to live if she hates me.

Of course, when I return to my loft a few hours later and find Mona there waiting for me, my first reaction is to be angry at her. The fury courses through my veins, surging upward like a fire and rapidly melting the ice that Spencer had left behind with her glare. Something stops me just before it boils over the edge, though. Mona's just sitting there, a coy smirk on her face, sipping a glass of red wine. My eyes stray to the table, where a beautifully prepared meal sits, and it's almost as though it's mocking me. I know exactly who prepared that meal, and precisely for what reason. This brings on another wave of rage, but I close my eyes and take a shaky breath, trying to quell it just enough to force coherent words from my throat.

"You planned this," I say. It isn't a question. Mona just smiles wider and sets her wine glass on the table, pressing her fingertips together daintily. I should have known something was amiss when she sent me, of all the team members, to retrieve the lost key from Spencer's house.

"Your bitch was here earlier, you just missed her. I suppose you were wandering around, lurking in the shadows. It suits you, of course." I try to swallow the lump that's been building in my throat, but it's persistent.

"Just leave me alone, Mona."

She steps closer to me, much closer than I'm comfortable with, and I'm vaguely reminded of Jenna, but only for a fleeting second. Only one girl dominates my mind at this moment. "You're never alone, Toby. We're all you have."

How poetic. In some sick way, though, her words ring true. After tonight, even if I were to risk my life and prove to Spencer that I love her, she'd never forgive me, and she'd certainly never trust me again. Mona truly is a diabolical genius. She's destroyed the only thing that made me feel alive, and cemented my loyalty to her, all in one night. I have nothing now—nothing but "—A."

"I just want to be alone tonight."

"Of course you do. But come morning, you're going to report for your new orders, and you're going to keep those ridiculous emotions of yours in check, just like I've been telling you to do for months. You brought this on yourself, Toby."

I want to get angry, but I feel as though all the life has drained out of me. Mona has that effect on people. All I can do is nod, and then she's smiling again. She knows that she's finally broken me completely—without Spencer, I have nothing on the other side to fight for, to protect. I'm just another of Mona's mindless drones now, and she can sleep easily knowing that I'll do whatever she says.

When the door shuts behind her, it seems to carry the sound of some dramatic finality. It's sealing my fate. I rest my back on it, the burning sensation in my throat and eyes threatening to overpower me. For the first time in years, I let it. Sliding down to the ground, I bury my head in my knees and let the tears fall unhindered. It feels freeing to cry, to _feel_. I have a sinking feeling that it's the closest I'll ever get to real emotion again now that Spencer's gone.

An hour passes this way, until finally it seems as though my tear ducts have dried out. I know it's only temporary though. There will be many more waves of agony to come.

Something in the corner of the room catches my eye. A platform, adorned with something unfamiliar. Upon closer inspection, I see that it's a _Scrabble_ board. My heart begins to thump rapidly, my breath coming in short pants, and suddenly I feel as though I've just run a marathon.

"Goofball" and "Glyceraldehyde" are arranged just as they were that auspicious night in the Edgewood Motor Court. In the middle, the tiles are placed to say "I love you." My chest constricts painfully, and it's all I can do to keep breathing. I clutch the edge of the table to keep from collapsing once more to the floor, my grip so fervent that my knuckles turn white.

There's an engraving at the bottom, and that's what kills me.

"For T, my safe place to land. Always your girl, S."

My whole body goes numb, my hand slipping from the table, and I sink to the floor piteously. The tears are streaming now with greater vehemence, and I almost wish it were possible to drown in them. If I were to die in some theatrical gesture to Spencer, I wouldn't have to feel this gnawing, all-consuming pain anymore. If I live, I'm fairly certain it won't ever go away, because every single ounce of it is self-induced.

It would be so easy to blame Mona, but I can't. She might have influenced me, but in the end, it was my own choices that got me to this place. I'm the devil, and I've lit the flames of my own little Hell.

I fall asleep there on the ground, not even bothering to remove my now iconic black hoodie. It feels as though it's fused to my skin, seeping into my bloodstream like a tangible poison, but I suppose it's just as well. It's irritatingly symbolic and reminiscent of Mona's earlier words. This is who I've allowed myself to become, and it's all I'll ever be.

When morning comes, I rise from my resting place on the ground and make my way to the door. Everything from Spencer's surprise anniversary dinner is still in place, with only the wine having been tampered with. No tears come this time when I lay eyes upon the evidence of my betrayal, but I have to force myself not to tremble.

The door clicks shut behind me, and the light of the morning burns my exhausted eyes. Pulling my hood up, I take my first step down the metal stairs, and I make my way to Mona.

…

_THREE WEEKS LATER_

I crouch in the darkness of the barn, absentmindedly fingering the metal handle of the weapon concealed within the folds of my hoodie. I don't want to be doing this, but Mona insisted it's for the best. I smile humorlessly at the fact that such a small girl can inspire fear in me, but I suppose it's not completely ridiculous. Insanity can be beyond frightening.

When she'd given me the order, saying it had come from "red coat" herself, I'd almost fought back, but Mona and I both know that I don't have any fight left in me. I'm like a horse that's been violently spurred into obedience. How odd that I'm lurking in in a stable.

Luring Caleb here had been simple enough. When we found out that he and Emily's girlfriend had been in cahoots, looking for the people that were torturing their loved ones, Mona had sent one of the other members to steal the cell phone of Caleb's new-found father, asking him to come and visit the stable where he was employed. Jamie wouldn't be here today, though. It was his day off. Only I would be waiting for Caleb.

Wistful thoughts creep their way into the forefront of my mind. I wonder what things would be like if I'd never given into Mona at all, never joined her team, and never donned this shadow of a hoodie. I'd likely be in the same situation as Caleb and Paige, trying desperately to find out who was hurting the woman I love, and I'd have someone waiting in a dark barn waiting to shoot me as well. The notion is oddly inviting. At least Spencer would still love me.

Finally, the moment of truth arrives. The doors creak open, and footsteps fall softly on the hay-covered floor. My brow furrows at this. The sounds of the feet falling are _too_ soft, too light to be Caleb's. I peer experimentally around the box that I'm crouched behind, wondering if we've made a mistake, if someone was indeed scheduled to be here today.

Looking is a mistake on my part. A fatal error, really.

She sees me immediately, as though looking for me. I feel like an idiot. Of course she's looking for me. Why else would she be here?

"Spencer?" Her name falls from my lips accidentally, and clap my hand over my mouth straightaway. As stupid as it is, though, it feels so good to say her name again. It had become a taboo of sorts over the past few weeks, and I'd missed its sweet music.

She doesn't look like herself. She's still beautiful, but she's some disheveled, unkempt, broken ghost of the Spencer that I remember. Her eyes are bloodshot from countless sleepless nights—I recognize them because they mirror mine. Her skin is sallower, almost sunken, and she looks even thinner, if possible. It's like looking at a skeleton.

I've broken her.

The Toby from a year-and-a-half ago, the one who was all but enthusiastic to join Mona in her twisted quest, would have cheered at this new development, but he's silent now, because he's been dead for a long time. Ever since he found the real Spencer Hastings, not the version he'd built in his mind, he'd changed into a man who could love, and now, into me—a man who's had his heart shattered by none other than himself.

I see tears beginning to form in her eyes, and she wipes them away angrily, staring me down with the same intense look from her kitchen that night. Somehow, for some reason, it gives me the strength to rise to my feet. I find words, but they aren't what I really want to say, and I don't even feel as though I am the one speaking them. They just slip out into the air, completely uninvited.

"How did you know I would be here?" I sound tired, almost as exhausted as she looks, and her eyes shine with something I can't quite place, but only for a moment. Almost as soon as it came, it disappears, only to be replaced with a look of steely defiance.

"I've had someone tailing you. A private investigator."

For a few wild seconds, I almost want to laugh. A private investigator…I should have known. It's just such a _Spencer_ thing to do. It makes my heart ache all the more, the longing and the guilt resuming its task of eating me alive. When it becomes clear that I'm not going to respond, Spencer continues.

"He's been tracking your phone conversations with Mona, and he told me what you were planning to do to Caleb. I warned him not to come, and then I followed you here."

It's obvious that she didn't tell her friends of her plans, by the way a bit of apprehension darts across her features. I continue to finger the gun in my pocket, pondering. It would be so easy, just to end the pain for both of us. How Romeo and Juliet. I know I could never do it, though. I love Spencer too much to do anything to—physically—hurt her, and offing myself in front of her would only serve to traumatize her.

She seems to have caught on to the situation, because she's staring at my pocket, and I can tell she's trying not to panic. Suddenly, though, an eerie calm settles over her, and her whole demeanor changes. Her shoulders relax, and she looks me dead in the eyes, challenging me. I resist the urge to take a step back. When she speaks, her voice is low, and more dangerous than I've ever heard it.

"Have you got a gun in there, Toby? Is it the same one that one of you maniacs shot Garrett with?" I flinch instinctively at the name. Killing the cop hadn't been part of the original plan either, but, once again, Mona had insisted it was a necessity.

"Are you going to shoot me, too? I bet that would make Mona happy. That's your endgame isn't it? "—A" wants to take down all four of us. Why not start with me?" Her voice falls to a whisper then, and I'm almost certain that I'm not meant to hear what comes next. "You've already killed me anyway. There's nothing else to take away from me."

I want to tell her she's wrong, so, so wrong, that I don't want to hurt her, that I would do anything to leave Mona's band of fiends and have her back, but I'm afraid that if I try to speak, all that will come out will be the scream of agony I can feel building in my chest.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Toby?" Her voice is steadily rising now, and by the end she's practically screaming. "Do it!"

"Spencer…" I warn, but she's storming towards me, a look of pure anguish and fury in her eyes.

"I SAID DO IT!" I flinch, backing a few steps away from her. She does not follow, but instead stares at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Keeping my eyes carefully trained on hers, I reach into my pocket and pull out the gun. Spencer doesn't so much as flinch or widen her eyes. She's frozen in place, staring me down like an ancient statue, its beauty preserved over the years only in a museum. Slowly, ever so slowly, I set the weapon on the ground between us. As soon as it is placed safely on the hay, she crumples.

I'm horrendously reminded of myself, that night in my loft, when I knew that I'd lost her for good, that I'd screwed up as much as I had. The tears are streaming down her face like a waterfall, and she's screaming and sobbing with reckless abandon. I kneel down next to her, the guilt like a sledgehammer bludgeoning me over and over on the head. I want nothing more than to take her into my arms, to kiss her hair and to whisper to her that everything will be all right, but I know that isn't possible. She'd probably punch me.

Several minutes pass, in which she sobs and I try to find the courage to say something. My nature still rings true though—I continue to be a coward, even in this moment where I am the one who is most composed (even though it's just barely). Finally, Spencer speaks.

"Just…just tell me the t-truth, Toby. Please…please." The sound of her begging is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Spencer should never be like this. She's strong and powerful and independent. She succumbs to no one, and she begs for nothing. She's a fighter, and she isn't afraid to go after what she wants.

_Maybe she was, but look at what you've done to her. What's become of her. And it's your fault._

I push away the voice in the back of my head and gulp audibly. Spencer is looking at me now, her eyes so red and raw that it looks as though she's been crying for days rather than just minutes. I want to reach out to her, to touch her, but I resist the urge.

"The truth…the truth is…it wasn't in the plan to fall in love with you, Spencer. I paid for it when Mona found out that I did."

She looks away. "You've done nothing but lie to me, Toby. Why should I believe anything you say now?" Her comment stings like the slap she delivered that night, and it's almost as though I can feel her palm on my cheek once more, and the smarting, tingling sensation it left behind.

"I told a lot of lies, Spencer, I'll be the first to admit that, but I never, _ever_ lied about that. It took me by surprise, but…" I'm unable to go on, but Spencer somehow finds the courage to finish for me.

"You love me."

I nod, tears of my own beginning to fall from my eyes. "More than anything."

"And the scaffolding…you tried to leave, and Mona punished you for it." I don't need to confirm or deny this. Spencer, with her blessed Hastings intelligence, already knows it to be true. I sigh, running a gloved hand tiredly through my hair. I'm trying to think of something to say when the unexpected happens.

Suddenly, her weight crashes into me. For a moment, I think she's attacking me, but then I feel her arms lock around my neck, and I realize she's embracing me. Her face is buried in the crook of my neck and she's sobbing once more. I kiss her hair, closing my eyes and breathing in her intoxicating scent for the first time in weeks. It's like heaven, and I never want to let go of this moment, of her.

"Toby," she finally says, hiccupping and shifting to look up at me, "what are we even going to do?"

Letting go of her for just a moment, I remove the black gloves from my hands and toss them unceremoniously to the side. Placing my palms on either side of Spencer's face, I gaze into her eyes, and the most refreshing feeling overtakes me. None of the hatred from that night that had been so burned into my mind's eye remains, and some of the more familiar looks are beginning to return, creeping their way slowly back in.

"Spencer," I finally answer, tucking a stray lock of hair gently behind her ear, "I don't know if you still want me to be your safe place to land, but I want you to know that I'm going to do everything in my power to protect you from Mona, and from all the other members of her team."

The words resonate deeply within me, even as I say them. Here, with Spencer once more in my arms, the empty, aching feeling that has dominated me since she left is rapidly disintegrating. I lean in and, uncertainly at first, press my lips to hers. She returns the kiss with more fervor than I expected, and when we break apart we are both breathing heavily. I look at her and I realize that I do have something_, someone_, to fight for. And I'll fight to the death if it means she stays safe.

"I'm with you, Spencer, not with them. And I want to help you bring them down."

She responds with short, breathless laugh of pure relief, a few stray tears slipping down her cheeks. She kisses me again, and it feels like a fire has been lit within me. Spencer is in my veins, and as long as she stays there, I'm alive.

"I love you, Toby."

"I love you, too. So much." We kiss again, unable to keep our hands off one another, and despite the horrific gravity of the situation awaiting us outside this barn, I can't keep the foolish smile off of my face.

"Let's go home, Toby." She takes my hand, leading me out of the barn. I grab the gloves, but leave the gun behind. I don't need it anymore. I'm not sure if Spencer meant her house or my loft by "home," but I don't care. Wherever I can be with her is home to me.

Mona be damned.

**(A/N: I thought about giving this an angsty ending and not doing the second part at all, but I just couldn't. I have too many Spoby feels right now as it is. Drop a review in the box down below and let me know what you thought. Thanks, lovelies!) **


	2. A Little Fall of Rain

**A Little Fall of Rain**

**A Spoby OneShot **

**(A/N: Inspired by Eponine's death scene is Les Mis. I was listening to the song today and it made me think of my dear little OTP. I couldn't resist trying it out. Enjoy, loves.)**

"_For never was a tale of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo." –William Shakespeare_

"_You're here. That's all I need to know. And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close, and rain will make the flowers grow." –Eponine Thenardier _

I'd never known what it meant when people said they were having an out-of-body experience. Until now.

Red Coat had been referring to the whole ordeal as the Final Ambush. It's a horrifically dramatic title, like something akin to the climax of a fantasy novel. We were going to do one last deed—one more attack on the Bitches before likely event that we would be exposed to all of the monstrous town of Rosewood. Maybe we'd be sentenced to life in the nuthouse. Publicly hanged. Tarred and feathered. I didn't particularly care anymore.

The plan was to get them all together in the place where it would be most elegiac for them to meet their downfall. I'll spare you the specifics, but the idea was, more or less, we'd broken them down enough that they could finally go to join their leader.

I'm ashamed to say it, but I wasn't thinking about Spencer when Red Coat formulated this monstrosity. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular, really. Ever since that beautiful girl who I was meant to hate had found me out, discovered my secret, I'd been all but numb to everything around me. Red Coat and Mona were ecstatic. I could finally follow orders like the housetrained terrier they wanted me to be. Pesky emotions and that ridiculous little burden called a _conscience_ were no longer an obstacle.

Sometimes, though, through the detachment, Spencer finds me in my sleep. She comes back in flashes, little moments of our time together playing through my subconscious with dizzying rapidity. One night I legitimately woke up with a tingling feeling on my cheek, as though she had been caressing it lightly, just like she used to—before I broke her—but the more likely explanation is that it was some deep-seated, unconscious remnant of the all-consuming slap she had delivered that fateful night.

So, yes, she'd been there, lurking in the back of my mind like what I'd like to describe as a tumor but what is more like a soft blanket. No matter how hard I'd tried to push Spencer from my thoughts, to close myself off, she'd remained.

That was why, when I saw her there, poetically lying in the same place where Alison had met her fate more than three years earlier, when I saw what they—what _I_, by extension—had done to her, it seemed as though my whole world ceased to turn. My breath caught in my throat, the weapon I had been armed with fell from my hand, and it was like I was looking at Spencer through a tunnel. She seemed so far away, so utterly unreachable, though she was no more than five feet from me.

My eyes, as well, moved in slow motion, sliding over to rest on Mona. She had been the one to pull the trigger. She was not looking at me, but instead calmly admiring her handiwork. A little smirk played across her lips, and her eyes—they were dead. I could see nothing in them but a small gleam of triumph. Having achieved her goal, Mona had truly become an empty vessel.

This, the imminent demise of Alison's posse, was what we had been striving towards for what seemed like decades. So much had happened, in the space of just a few years, and now, finally, we had accomplished what we had set out to do.

So why did it feel like my heart, which I'd tried so vehemently to harden into ice, was suddenly painfully, astringently aflame?

I hardly thought about it before I ran towards her. The rain was starting to fall in some sickening, cliché gesture to the tragedy that was descending upon us. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying me towards her in no more than three steps. I couldn't bring myself to care about the hell that I would surely face from my "teammates" when this was all over.

All I cared about was Spencer.

I dropped to my knees beside her, gathering her as gently as possible into my arms. Her head lolled back, resting in the bend of my elbow, all of the energy quickly draining from her. It was like cradling an infant, and our "newborn-with-a-six-pack" joke flashed wildly through my mind. I hadn't even noticed I'd begun to cry until the tears started to run into my mouth. I relished their salty taste on my tongue, tangible proof of the feelings slowly working their way back into me.

"Spencer, no. Please, God. No." I was babbling like a madman, and Spencer was struggling to keep her eyes open as she gazed at me.

"Toby," she rasped, choking back tears of her own. "Why…?" I knew what she was trying to ask, but I didn't want to answer that particular question just yet. My voice lodged itself in my throat when I glanced down to her stomach, where a blossoming red stain had appeared and was quickly growing. It took me a moment to find the strength to speak again.

"Spencer…I'm so sorry."

"I thought you loved me."

She was twisting the knife that had been wedged in the crevices of my heart since I had lost her, and she had every right to do so. I was the reason that she was lying here on the ground, dying. She should have been in the arms of Emily, Aria, or Hanna, but I was far too selfish to allow that to happen. I wanted her here, with me, no matter that I didn't deserve her. God, she had always deserved so much better.

Why had it taken me so long to see it?

"I do love you," I finally answered. "I lied about so much, Spence, but never about that. Never about that."

Her voice was guarded, disbelieving, but I could see that some hope had started to creep into her big, beautiful mocha eyes. She wanted to die happy, and this made my heart bleed more than anything else. Whether she believed me or not, I was going to tell her the truth and make her final moment a content one.

"You love me?" she asked. "You really fell in love with me?"

"I wasn't supposed to, but God, Spencer…I did. I never knew what it felt like to love someone so much until I met you. I'm so, so sorry for everything. You deserved so much better than me."

She tried to answer, but she began to shake violently, the chilling effect of the rain and the wound Mona had inflicted.

"I'm here," I assured, wrapping my arms around her even tighter. My heart was shattering inside my chest even as I spoke, the shards ricocheting painfully around and imposing thousands of tiny little abrasions that I was fairly certain would never heal.

She made a piteous effort to smile at me. "You have no idea how much I love hearing you say that."

I started to cry even harder, the tears falling with reckless abandon, burying my head in the crook of her shoulder.

"Toby," she breathed, causing me to look up and lock eyes with her again. "It'll be all right. It doesn't hurt much anymore. I don't feel any pain…"

Oh, God. She was trying to calm _me_ down. How very Spencer of her. It was almost too much to take, looking at me like that as though she were concerned with _my _well-being, even though she was the one bleeding to death in the arms of the man who had deceived her, betrayed her, destroyed her…

It made me love her even more, and it was going to make the inevitable end to our final encounter even more painful.

"God, Spencer. Please…"

"Oh, Toby." She smiled at me with an attempt at radiance. "After everything, you really think this rain can hurt me?" She was joking. _Joking_, for God's sake, trying to play it off that I was worried the fall droplets of water were going to tamper with her usually primly styled hair. I loved and hated her for it simultaneously. She should be using her last breaths to berate me for everything I've done and give me what I deserved, but instead she's trying to comfort me.

Oh, Spencer.

She continued, though it seemed to take a measurable amount of effort. "You're here with me, and you love me, and that's all I could ever ask for, Toby. I love you so much, and I was so afraid I'd lost you forever."

"I love you, Spencer. I love you more than anything, more than you'll ever know." I choked on the end of my own sentence, suddenly transitioning to a tone of what could only be described as begging. "You have to live, Spencer. You can't leave me. Please, please don't leave me…" She was fading, and fast. Panic surged through me, and I laid a hand on the side of her cold face, my fingers tangling in her hair. "Spencer, no! Please!" It couldn't end like this. Surely, that would be the one thing capable of destroying me.

Spencer had broken down my walls, and her death would break me entirely.

A loud sob escaped my throat, the thought that there were other people in this yard having flown from my head the second I saw Spencer fall. As far as I was concerned, it was just me and the woman I loved. I know without looking that the other members of the team are gone, and Spencer's friends are probably huddled together, sobbing and watching as I cradle her.

"Just hold me, Toby," she breathed, a shaking hand reaching up to limply cover my own. My fingers curled around to hold onto hers, and I pressed our conjoined hands to my cheek. She was chilled, but the warmth of life was still there, and I wanted to feel it in its entirety before it left her forever. Because Spencer is not meant to be cold. If she embodies anything, it's warmth, and that's what I want to feel when I touch her. It's her fiery passion and fierce determination that I want to remember.

"Spencer…"

"Please, just hold me. I just want you to hold me."

So I held her. I held her with everything that I have left in me. I should have held her like this from the very beginning and never have let go. I should have stood up to Mona and Red Coat and all of the other monsters that were telling me to hate the love of my life. There are so many things I should have done, and yet I utterly destroyed everything—just like always.

I whispered to her over and over how much I love her, so quiet and rushed that I'm not sure she could even hear it. The tears seemed as though they would never stop.

"I love you so much, Spencer, and I hate myself for everything I've done to you. This is my fault, all my fault."

"Shh," she whispers, trying in vain to squeeze my hand. "Don't say that. I still love you more than anything. Just tell me that you love me, too. That's all I want to hear right now."

I say it, and I keep saying it until my sobs overpower the words. I can hear the sirens approaching in the distance, but they give me no hope. By the time they arrive, it will already have been far too late.

The warmth that is Spencer is gone.

One last time, with an aching, gut-wrenching finality, I say it.

"I love you."

_THREE DAYS LATER_

The residents of Rosewood are gathering to say one final goodbye to a young girl who lost her life. They hope that this will mark the end of the three years of bloody tragedy that they've had to endure.

I didn't go to the funeral. I can't even begin to describe how wildly inappropriate that would have been. A story was published in the _Rosewood Observer_ about it, though, highlighting all of the touching speeches given by her friends and family. The one delivered by Emily, only a few lines in length, is the only one I have bothered to remember.

"_She died in the arms of the love of her life, and she was smiling. That's all we could ever ask for."_

The first time I'd read that, I had stared at it for what seemed like hours. I would be lying if I said that several glasses of something strong hadn't been involved in helping me survive through the night.

Mona and Red Coat and all of the other members are in jail. My name was never specifically revealed—some small mercy from Aria, Emily, and Hanna that is more like an eternally punishment—so I still walk free. Everyone in this town knows I had something to do with all of it, though. Their glares and furtive glances speak volumes.

This time, though, I welcome it. I welcome the ostracization and the loneliness and the aching, gnawing guilt. It's everything I deserved and more.

I could have had a life and happiness with Spencer, but I ruined it. My cowardice and my pride and my yearning for an ill-advised revenge had driven me to this life of misery. I had brought it all on myself, and I would bear my fate with an empty smile.

I'd like to think that someday I'll visit her resting place, but I'm not sure I could ever do that without destroying everything in sight. If I thought the death of my mother was difficult, it is nothing compared to this.

I still see her in my dreams. She glows and smiles at me lovingly like some ethereal being right out of a movie. She calls me her safe place to land, and I start to tell her I don't deserve such a prestigious title, but she puts a finger to my lips. I find that the only words I can utter are "I love you."

One day, I decide to write her a letter. I won't disclose all of the details, but the end goes a little something like this:

_You thought I was your safe place to land, but it was just the opposite. You were mine. I'm sorry I didn't realize this sooner. I love you. So much. Until we meet again._

_Always, _

_T. _

**(A/N: Okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it: I teared up a few times while writing this, and at the end I actually cried. Let me know in a review if I'm just a sissy, or if you all have the same overpowering Spoby feels **** Thanks, loves. Review!)**


	3. One Reason

**One Reason**

**A Spoby OneShot**

**(A/N: Thought I'd try a little fluffy Spoby, since I've been depressing myself so much lately, and since we haven't heard so much as a peep from Toby in FOUR FREAKING EPISODES. That's a whole month of Spoby feels. Holy crap. Anyway, this is set post 2x25, after Spencer and Toby are reunited. Dedicated to liberal4peace, an awesome reviewer, and BlueRoseMarcella (there should be periods in between each of the words, but they weren't showing up for some reason), one of my all-time favorite Spobettes. If you haven't read her stuff, DO IT. Enjoy!)**

He smelled of freshly-mown grass.

Spencer had never thought such an aroma could be so attractive, but on him, it was the most natural, intoxicating scent in the world. The smallest of smiles played across her lips as they lay together for the first time in far, far too long. They had been kissing fervently mere moments previously, but in that moment just laid wrapped in each other's' arms, feeling completely, utterly safe for a few fleeting moments.

The events of the previous day had been traumatizing, to say the least. Spencer didn't know if she'd ever entirely be able to block out all of the images. Perhaps she'd be perpetually doomed to untimely flashes of Mona, dressed in a black hoodie and devoid of all sense of emotion; of Pam Fields when she uttered the name "Maya" and grasped her daughter's hands; of Emily's unbearable, crushing anguish…

Spencer made a small noise of discomfort, shaking her head to clear it before burying it safely in the crook of Toby's neck.

"Spencer?" he asked, arms instinctively tightening around her. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, her mocha eyes wide and round. She wasn't crying, but the pain was clear to see. "I just can't keep picturing Emily. I can't even imagine how she must feel right now. If something like that ever happened to you, I don't know what I'd—"

She was rapidly diving into a full-blown, panic-induced rant, and Toby cut her off with a kiss. Spencer remained still for a brief moment, caught off guard, but then molded her lips to his, returning the gesture with almost indecent vehemence. It still amazed both of them how perfect they were together, like they were made specifically for each other. It was truly astounding, given the circumstances of their first meetings, and especially considering extenuating circumstances yet to come.

When they broke apart for air, a breathless Toby placed one of his strong hands on Spencer's cheek and looked lovingly into her eyes.

"Nothing is ever going to happen to me, Spencer, or you. I'll make sure of that."

"How can you be sure of that?" she inquired fearfully, leaning into his touch.

Toby leaned his forehead against hers, cerulean blue blazing into deep brown. "I have one very good reason to _make_ sure." He pressed his lips to hers once more, one hand still gently gripping the side of her face and the other placed firmly on the small of her back. Spencer pressed her body closer to his, her heart thumping rapidly. She certainly wasn't ready for where their encounter seemed to be headed, but it surely wouldn't hurt to continue a little while longer…

In the end, it was Toby who pulled away. He didn't want to pressure her into something she wasn't prepared for. Spencer knew that, and she loved him all the more for it.

They stayed like that for a while longer, sharing soft, sweet kisses and talking of everything under the Sun, certainly including how much they'd missed each other. When Spencer walked Toby to the door and he embraced her, neither of them wanted to let go. They knew that there would be many more touches and kisses to come, but something about this reunion was so perfect and special that it seemed almost criminal to let it end so soon.

"I love you." Toby's voice was barely above a whisper, the words—as they had always been—meant for Spencer's ears only.

"I love you, too."

He held onto her hand until the last possible moment, one last declaration of love unwittingly escaping his lips when their skin ceased to touch. Spencer watched the love of her life disappear into the darkness, sighing contentedly. She hadn't really realized the depths of how much she'd missed him, what with being in the midst of Mona's "—A-game." Now that Toby had returned, and the terror of the past months was behind them, it finally felt like she could breathe again.

Yes, tragedy still surrounded them, and Emily would need time to heal, but at least now she could begin to do so without having to constantly look over her shoulder for the next attack.

Spencer tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, sinking slowly down onto her couch. It seemed as though she couldn't go more than a few seconds without thoughts of Toby invading her brain. He was going to be the death of her "know-it-all" reputation, and strangely, she wasn't as devastated by that as many would have thought.

Finally, at least for the moment, she felt at peace.

**(A/N: Not my longest, or my best. Truth be told, I'm very conflicted about writing Spoby fluff. On the one hand, I absolutely LOVE it, because Spoby is my OTP, and they deserve to be happy (I still have hope!). On the other hand, it feels almost…tainted. We know so little about Toby's point-of-view right now, and there are so many signs pointing to him being evil L It's almost hard to write him being unconditionally in love with Spencer. That being said, I believe he started out being genuinely hateful, but ended up truly falling for Spencer along the way. Now Mona and Wren (damn Wren) are setting him up to look worse than he is. That's just my theory. I'd love to hear yours (and your feedback) in a review. Sorry for this obscenely long author's note. Apparently my brain is always hopped up on Spencer's coffee. Loves!)**


	4. Pulling Me Down

**Pulling Me Down**

**A Spoby OneShot**

**(A/N: And...I'm back to angst. What a sadistic little person I am :) I took a slight liberty in the fact that Toby is the one at his loft when Spencer shows up, not Mona. Enjoy and review!)**

God, how she wished she could be numb.

In that moment, nothing sounded more appealing than turning her emotions off like a light switch and allowing them to recede deep into the confines of her mind. However ideal her little fantasy seemed, though, it was just that—a fantasy. The dark reality was that her feelings had never gripped her so completely, and had never been so constrictive as they were on this night.

The decision to walk probably wasn't the most intelligent one she'd ever made, but driving would have been even worse. Her focus was already flitting about, her thoughts never resting on one thing for more than a few stolen seconds. Had it all been real? Was it a dream? Had he ever really loved her? This final, most prominent question brought a painful burning sensation to Spencer's eyes and throat. It was all she could do to hold back the tears.

No, operating heavy machinery most definitely wasn't on her list for the evening.

That being said, though, most of what had happened hadn't been in the plan, so who was she to say what she should and shouldn't do?

The November air was crisp, but she barely noticed. Her feet carried her swiftly towards her destination, without any sort of prior authorization. Her mind was rapidly becoming plagued with fatigue, but her legs carried on, showing no sign of exhaustion, not even the slightest murmur of the weakness that was threatening to crush her into a mere pile of bones on the street.

When she reached his door, it was the same as ever, but it looked vastly different to her. Or rather the feeling that the sight gave her was different. Tainted. It took a moment before she realized that it was fear fluttering in her chest. The apprehension was unwelcome, and unwitting, but it was there. After all that "-A" had put them through, how could the person behind it all not strike up some measure of fright in her?

Toby's home was no longer a safe place for her.

The lump in her throat had become even more persistent, but Spencer swallowed it as best she could. A few tears slipped out, but she simply sniffled and wiped them away impatiently. There was no time for those right now. She had to concentrate on her goal—to find the truth.

Raising one trembling fist, she knocked on the door.

There had been some sounds of movement inside the loft, but they ceased quite suddenly at the sound of Spencer's request for entrance. There was a long moment of silence in which the person inside didn't move so much as a muscle. Spencer began to question whether she had really heard anyone at all, but postulated that there was only one way to find out.

"I know you're in there."

It may have been her imagination, but she might have sworn she heard the sound of a sigh. She steeled herself, barely noticing the tears that had begun to fall without her permission, and continued.

"Just tell me that there's more to the story." Oh, God, her voice was breaking. No, this couldn't be happening. She was Spencer Hastings, and a Hastings was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be able to tackle any tragedy that was thrust upon her, and rise from the ashes with grace. She couldn't allow one boy to break her.

But he wasn't just a boy—he was Toby, the love of her life, her best friend...and he'd betrayed her in the worst way possible. He'd told her tales of love and whispered sweet words into her ear, broken down her walls with dizzying relentlessness. She had fallen, hard, and his strong arms had been there to catch her. Now, though, a year later, those arms were being put to different use. He had pulled the rug out from under her, and this time, when she had fallen, it had hurt.

It was enough to break anyone—especially someone who had always believed themselves to be so strong, so above it all, that they'd never had to fear being broken.

"Please," she begged, leaning against the door for support and sinking slowly to her knees. "Please, Toby."

This time, she was sure of it. There had been a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the barrier. She was almost too distracted to really take notice, though. The tears were falling unrestrained, and it was all she could do not to let out a choked scream of agony. She sobbed quietly, one hand on the door to steady her. If it weren't for that cold metal surface that she was bracing herself against, she would have collapsed into a piteous heap on the ground.

Several minutes passed this way before, all of a sudden, the door was gone. Spencer let out a yelp of surprise that mixed almost seamlessly in with her sobs. She put out a hand instinctively to lighten the blow, but she slammed hard to the ground nonetheless.

Her gaze traveled upward at an excruciatingly slow rate. There he was, in all his glory. He had removed his "team uniform," and looked like the Toby that had spent the past few hours flashing through Spencer's memory like a high-speed picture show on an endless loop. Even his eyes appeared to be almost the same.

There was anger, there, as she'd expected. The pity was a bit surprising, she supposed, but it wasn't what really caught her off guard. In fact, it wasn't anything she saw at all. It was what she _didn't_ find there.

There was no hate. Unexpectedly, a tiny wave of naïve hope surged through her chest, serving only to make the tears fall faster.

Toby bent down, keeping eye contact with her the whole time. He grabbed her by the forearms and pulled her to her feet. The action was none-too-gentle, but she had the distinct feeling that it was for show—that he wasn't truly doing it with the intention of hurting her.

"Spencer," he began, his voice low and thick, "you shouldn't be here."

It stung, like she was sure her slap had, but Spencer set her jaw and refused to break eye contact with him. "No, I am exactly where I need to be, Toby." She could tell that he wanted to look away, but for whatever reason couldn't. The childish hope pulled once more on her heart. "And I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."

"I can't _give_ you any answers right now, Spencer." She vaguely registered the irony of his statement. They'd had many a conversation such as this one, but the roles had been reversed. Apparently, Toby was very good at playing his game. Or Mona's game—or whoever was calling the shots.

"That's not good enough!" Her voice was equally dangerous, but this was somewhat negated by the unintentional sob that punctuated the end of her statement. "Toby...at least tell me why you pretended to love me. There were so many other ways to get close to us, if that's what you wanted, but you—you really made me believe you loved me..."

Toby's eyes blazed with fury, and Spencer couldn't help but look away. Suddenly, he grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze back to his, and she let out a surprise gasp. "You really think I lied about loving you? God, Spencer, have you and your friends lied so much that you really can't tell it from the truth anymore?"

Another blow, like a punch to the gut. Spencer gulped, her legs practically screaming to back away from him. Whether Toby was telling the truth about loving her, it was quickly becoming clear that he was more dangerous than she thought.

"But—but how...how could you love me? How could '—A' love me? After everything—"

"I wasn't supposed too, damn it!" he bellowed, cutting her off. Again, the urge to turn and run spread through Spencer's limbs, but she was frozen to the spot. Toby's chest rose and fell rapidly, and he stepped even closer to Spencer, so that their faces were mere inches apart. His voice was much quieter when he spoke again, and she was reminded of the Toby she used to know. The Toby she fell in love with.

"I fell for you in spite of myself. I hated you, I wanted to hurt you...When I realized that I had feelings for you...I tried to deny it for so long, Spencer. Damn it if I didn't try...but I couldn't help it. You did something to me that I never expected, and at the beginning, I didn't want it."

She took a shaky breath, lips parted only slightly. It felt as though her terror had frozen all the blood in her veins, and her limbs were incapable of even the slightest of movements. Toby was quite literally keeping her rooted to the spot.

"But," she finally whispered, "you did—start wanting it? Wanting...me?"

He never answered her question, but Spencer wouldn't realize this until much later, because what happened next was so fast, so intense, that it made the whole evening seem to blur together into one blazing, fiery, toxic moment.

Toby's lips were pressed to hers, and God, how she'd missed them. Had it really only been that morning that they'd shared their last kiss. These were different, though. Ardent...frantic...hungry. They still held the same immense, burning passion as they always had, but there was no sense of being timid, of holding back. These kisses were somehow fiercer.

Spencer's heart was pounding in her chest, and she'd never felt so alive. Her veins that had so recently felt like glaciers were ablaze. Where her skin touched his, it seemed to leave a searing sensation behind, but there was no pain. Everything around them shattered into nothingness, fell away into darkness, and in that moment, it was only them. No one else in the world existed. Nothing had ever happened to hurt them, to drive them apart, to cause them agony, because all that was real was Spencer and Toby.

It all happened so quickly and with such intensity that later, it would only come back to her in flashes. Flying clothes, the intensity of skin meeting skin and, amidst all of the anguish, the feeling of pure, utter bliss that he lit within her.

There was no time to think about _wrong_ or _right_. She relished in the feel of him, and he basked in the glory that was her. For a few moments, they could forget about the Hell Called Rosewood that waited outside the door.

For a few moments, it was perfect.

This was the first night. Too many others followed, too many secret rendezvouses. Spencer knew that she shouldn't, that she had too many secrets as it was. She knew that sleeping with their sworn enemy would surely be the thing to drive her friends away. That she was putting Toby in danger.

They both knew these things, but they couldn't stop themselves.

Something kept pulling them together, dragging them down into the depths of the other's embrace. It was by no means perfect—quite the opposite. Their situation carried with it such a ridiculousness—a stupidity, even—that it was too absurd to utter aloud. Thoughts such as this plagued them when they were apart, and they always told themselves one thing: _It would be the last time_.

But it never was.

For, even if he hated who she had once been, and even if she hated who he had become, they loved each other.

And that was stronger.

**(A/N: Wow. Holy crap. I'm gonna throw my laptop out a window. It decided it was going to shut down and restart right in the middle of writing this, so I lost about half of it, and had to re-type it from memory. Damn technology. On another note, I need to go see if the AfterEllen recap of last night's episode has been posted. Have y'all read those. They're HYSTERICAL. Leave a review and share your feedback or your love for Spoby in the box down below. I'll post some more tomorrow :) Loves!)**


	5. Falling

**Falling**

**A Spoby OneShot**

**(A/N: So I wrote this a while ago, and it's probably not my best, but I wanted to get something out tonight. This one's fluffier (but still has hints of darkness), and slightly more graphic than others. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. I have three more oneshots in my head (one of them is halfway done), but I'm running low on inspiration. If y'all like my writing, would you be kind enough to leave me a prompt in the review section? I will answer any and all prompts, usually by the next day. Now, without further ado, enjoy!)**

Perhaps I am the most horrible human being on the planet; though, in Rosewood, it's hard to tell. I stopped worrying myself with such things a long time ago. There are more important matters that require my constant attention. Doing the things that I do calls for my absolute concentration. There's no room for error.

Right now, it's insanely difficult.

At this moment, I'm trying not to think affectionately of the slender, brown-haired girl curled up in my arms. I'm straining desperately not to let the intoxicating smell of her jasmine perfume cloud my mind. I'm focusing all of my efforts on resisting the urge to give into her long, sweet, suggestive kisses.

I'm trying not to love her.

She's too much for me. She's achingly beautiful, intelligent, passionate, and the staggering force of her love for me leaves me weak in the knees. All of those things, though, that's not all she is. Her past, or rather my past, is what makes me want to hate her. I do hate her, even though every part of me, every fiber in my being, down to the last molecule, burns with the white-hot desire to steal her away and keep her in my arms forever.

I may be trying not to love her, but I'd be kidding myself if I said the effort wasn't futile.

After a while, I can't hold back anymore. My heart is beating erratically, threatening to jump out of my chest. I'd almost rather it did. If that happened, I wouldn't be trapped in this limbo where I love and despise her all at the same time. I try to make my voice low and gruff, full of lust (and nothing more), but it comes out as a whisper, a breathless question.

"Are you sure?"

Even I can hear it; the deep, thick emotion spills forth from me with those three words, discontent with being held in. Damn her. Damn this beautiful, wonderful angel straight to hell. Maybe if she were far enough away from the heaven that she fell from, I could learn to hate her.

Her reply is as choked and winded as my question. At first she just nods, unable to even form a single word on her perfect lips. After a few seconds, though, she pushes one syllable through and out into the air.

"Yes."

My mind goes wild as I pick her up, my lips still pressed fiercely to hers, as though I never want us to be completely separated. She weighs next to nothing, like she were made of naught but air. She kneels on the bed after I deposit her there, and goes to work taking my shirt off. She presses her lips lightly to my chest as I throw the unwanted garment to the ground, her kisses skittering over my newly exposed skin, never lingering longer than a second.

Slowly, yet somehow eagerly, she scoots herself backwards. The side of my brain which is usually so alert, so ready to remind me of just a few short years ago, is completely useless by this point. It always is when I'm with Spencer. I crawl between her legs, all of the breath leaving my lungs as I gaze into her huge chocolate eyes. They're darker than usual, burning with desire, with trust, with love.

I know mine are the same.

Before I can force myself to think rationally, to stop this tragedy before it happens, things begin to progress rapidly. Our clothes are gone, discarded somewhere where we can't bother to care about them anymore. Our kisses grow more and more frenzied, deeper, longer. I know she's in pain when I push myself into her for the first time, but she hides it well.

Hurting her should be something I enjoy, but I hate it. I hate the way she bites her lip to keep from crying out, the way that she squeezes her eyes shut and hides her face in my shoulder until the discomfort recedes. I hate seeing her anything but happy. She urges me to go on, though, and I comply. I don't want to be with her in this way, in a way that says I love her more than anything, but at the same time, I want nothing more.

As we progress, my ability to think disappears entirely, and I lose myself in the sensations. She leans her head back, allowing me access to kiss her neck. I press my lips to the sensitive skin, and I feel her muscles begin to tighten around me. She's close, and so am I.

We explode simultaneously, and I've never felt so close to anyone before. I've never felt so alive. It takes a moment before we're able to breathe again, and I can't bring myself to remove my face from the curve of her neck. She's so warm, and she feels so safe. My arms are wrapped around her tightly, never wanting to let go, and she's playing absentmindedly with my hair, oblivious to the turmoil inside of me, to the emotions at war in my heart.

God, I love her.

The unwanted thought forces its way to the forefront of my mind once more as we descend the stairs. Spencer is wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and my t-shirt, and I've never seen her look so beautiful. She almost seems to be glowing. As we reach the door, she turns to me, meeting my gaze again. It's always difficult not to get lost in her eyes, but at that moment, it's utterly impossible. It takes a few seconds for me to even register that she's speaking, but I'm able to catch her question.

"Did you get that job in Bucks County just to get away from me?"

I reach out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hating myself for lying to her. "I know it looks that way, but no." She looks relieved for a split second, before sadness fills her striking eyes again. I think back to the voice mail she had left me while I was "away." I'd barely been able to listen to it without breaking down and crying.

_I just…I really miss you._

Why did she have to do this to me? Why couldn't she just be a bitch like Alison, like I'd thought she was for so long? Why couldn't she be someone who was easy to hate, and who made it easy to do my job? Why did she have to be so amazing?

"You're going back," she mumbles, her voice cracking in pain. It makes my heart break, seeing her like this, and I step closer to her.

"Spencer…I am exactly where I need to be." I'm struggling to keep my own voice even, to keep the tears stinging at the back of my eyes at bay. I can't cry, and I can't lose sight of the plan. Spencer and her friends deserve everything they've ever gotten from the A-team. They went along with Alison for years, letting that monster of a girl terrorize everyone who crossed her path. They did nothing to stop her Reign of Terror.

So why do I feel so horrible? Oh, right.

"I love you." There's a small, unavoidable crack in my voice as I let my true colors shine, for just a few seconds. She's seemingly unaware of what really lies behind those words, because suddenly her eyes are shining once more and she's leaning towards me, the lingering scent of jasmine drifting over the small distance between us. There's a truth behind my confession of love, a dangerous one, but still I can't bring myself to break eye contact with her.

"I love you, too." Spencer draws me into her arms, and it's almost too much. Agony crosses my features for a second, and I'm barely able to recompose myself before she releases me. I blink a few times, to make sure the tears are under control, before picking up my bag and heading for the door. Spencer looks despondent again, and I have to resist the urge to go over and kiss her once more. Just once more is all I need. I know that if I do that, I'll lose all of the measly control I've managed to gain over myself. I may even tell her the truth.

So, instead, I take a deep, shaking breath, and I leave her behind. Just like I'm supposed to. Just like I've been ordered to.

There's a resounding click as the door shuts behind me.

**(A/N: Pretty please leave me a prompt? I need to write more Spoby to hold me over until next Tuesday's episode! Thanks, loves! Review!)**


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